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Sunshine In the Forest Page 8 - by Elobo

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SunshineForest - #09
I've waited until this page to talk about environment malleability. The art style allows me to bend the world to the story's emotional whim. It is subtle, but it gives me that freedom.

Other Submissions by Elobo

Small mice, large mice. Young mice and their elders. All Deadly. All issue forth from the gaping, hate-filled maw of the dreadful Plague Rat of Doom. The dark master of filth brings foetor and decay to the city above. The mice and rats spread out like searing tendrils of disease. A creeping death to all in its path. And all those foolish enough to brave its domain will be rent asunder by its absolute fury.

Soft envelope of night drapes over the harsh desert. Searing heat becomes the bitter cold. Huddle together, close, teeth chatter over the nocturnal sounds. But this chattering is met with the unnatural chattering of the wind. Looking up, the desert floats in front of you, both lonely and loamy. Who can even guess what this earthen creature desires? Who can even fathom the wishes of a desert? It’s voice is carried on the wind. All creatures in the desert hear it, but interlopers can never relate.

Some folks have asked me why the people of Spookane will not look at the Rosemary Mansion during a nighttime windstorm. We found this in some dusty archives, and it recounts the Shroudley. "The most notorious mass murderer of our times was a Rosemary. His immaculate white robes were stained crimson as he delighted in the bloodletting of countless people. After taking countless lives, he was finally lynched in his house on the hill. But his profane soul was condemned to the vile dwelling in his hereafter, never free to roam. Unless, that is, he could lock eyes with another and single them out. This allowed him to manifest in their quarters for that night only. His tortured wailing in the wind would cause the people of the town never to look at the roof of that mansion in the night for over one hundred years. And though he comes infrequently and the tradition holds fast... there is always new blood on his hands."